


All You've Got

by tumbleweedfarm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Kyoutani is a softie, M/M, Yahaba is patient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbleweedfarm/pseuds/tumbleweedfarm
Summary: The inherent tenderness of saying "I've got you."
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 11
Kudos: 149





	All You've Got

Kyoutani hates winter.

It’s too cold. Ice lines the sidewalks and clings to the windows, leaking into his bedroom and sending shivers into his bones. The runny noses and frozen ears aren’t worth the pretty views of snow and icicles hanging from the gutters. Nothing about winter is enjoyable.

Not even the morning walks to school with Yahaba. 

It’s not because he hates the company. He doesn’t really mind, as of late. It’s a fact he’s decided to put aside for later. But Yahaba loves winter. He loves the chilly air and the biting wind. For three winters, Kyoutani watches the cold breathe pink into Yahaba’s nose and cheeks, splashing snowy white smiles on his face. 

Yahaba’s scarf drops under his chin, exposing some of his neck. Idiot, he’ll get cold like that. For a brief, terrifying moment, Kyoutani is willing to pull his hands out of his pockets and expose them to the freezing air, just to tuck the scarf back around Yahaba’s neck.

Kyoutani’s heart rockets around his ribcage, throwing his balance, and Kyoutani is reminded of the main reason he hates winter: the ice. 

Winter isn’t worth the pretty views of pretty boys against pretty white snow. Especially when said boys turn wide eyes to you as you slam on cold concrete. When they reach out with shivering hands and pull you back up. 

There are layers upon layers of fabric between Yahaba’s hands and Kyoutani’s shoulders, but they burn anyway.

“Woah,” Yahaba laughs. That smile tears across his face and right through Kyoutani’s chest. “I’ve got you.”

Kyoutani probably makes some sound of disapproval. He probably scowls. He doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because Yahaba’s hands are still there, and the pink on his cheeks has jumped ship and landed on Kyoutani’s ears.

“Uh huh.”

Not his most eloquent moment, but there’s only so much he can do in the onslaught that is Yahaba in the winter. 

The bruises that are sure to form are nothing compared to the invisible marks Yahaba’s hands leave behind. Kyoutani feels them long after the purple webs have faded from his shoulder and hip. 

______

“Yahaba’s gay.”

Two words, uttered from the mouth of a classmate, and Kyoutani’s world splinters. It shouldn’t. But it does.

They’re said in passing, in that crude way rumors are, but they echo around Kyoutani’s head like a choir in a cathedral, haunting and reverent.

They shouldn’t. But they do.

It’s a song Kyoutani doesn’t know, he can’t find the harmonies or read the lyrics. He listens anyway.

The funny thing about prayers is they’re always spoken in the absence of the recipient.

Yahaba is nowhere to be found that day, or the next. Kyoutani is a pastor, at once hoping and fearing for his return. But Kyoutani doesn’t want the fear. Yahaba is just a boy. A boy that Kyoutani hates to miss.

Yahaba’s presence in Kyoutani’s life always seemed so optional. An additional luxury, if he could call it that. He doesn’t expect the empty feeling at his side as he walks to school. He doesn’t expect the silence at lunch to seem so hollow.

He doesn’t expect to lay in his bed that night, staring at the ceiling, hoping for an answer to his prayer.

But Kyoutani has other things to fear, like losing his graphing calculator or turning eighteen. And deep, deep down, he fears that empty space on his morning walks. He swallows the off-key notes in his throat, and heads for the door.

Yahaba’s house is two streets over from Kyoutani’s. It’s convenient, easy. There’s nothing easy about passing it now. The February chills are gone, and Kyoutani doesn’t have an excuse for the shiver that runs down his spine. 

Kyoutani knows where he’ll be. Yahaba sits on the roof outside his bedroom window on clear nights. For ambiance, he says. But Kyoutani looks past that. There’s something freeing in being unreachable, high off the ground where prying eyes can’t see.

Kyoutani gets a spark of satisfaction from his correct assumption. Yahaba perches on the roof, knees pulled up under his chin. The satisfaction fizzles out as soon as he sees the melancholy blanket, woven by cicada songs and heavy night air, wrapped around Yahaba’s shoulders.

“What are you doing here,” Yahaba mumbles, the sound barely carrying over the thump of Kyoutani’s heart. “Are you gonna gawk at me, too?”

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m not…I don’t gawk.”

The smell of burning leaves and impending rain wafts through the air. Yahaba pulls his knees up tighter. 

“Why not? Everyone else does,” Yahaba hums. He doesn’t sound upset. That’s the worst part.

“I don’t want to.”

It’s a safe answer, and not entirely a lie. But Yahaba doesn’t need to know that a melody is finally making itself clear in Kyoutani’s head, and he doesn’t hate the way it sounds.

Yahaba smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “You never do anything you don’t want to do, huh?”

Kyoutani doesn’t have time to unpack that. “Wanna take a walk?”

“Family’s asleep,” Yahaba sighs. “Can’t walk through the house and wake them up.”

Kyoutani eyes the tree that grows at the corner of the roof, branches just tall enough to use to climb down. Yahaba must see it, because he scoffs, “What, and break an ankle on my way down?”

Wordlessly, Kyoutani steps over to the lowest branch, right at chest level. Yahaba squints and straightens his legs out over the roof.

“Come on,” Kyoutani grumbles. He pats the branch. “I’ve got you.”

Through the darkness, he can make out the dusting of red over Yahaba’s ears as he scoots down the tree. The mix of confusion and frustration melts into mild panic when Yahaba’s waist is very suddenly slotted between Kyoutani’s hands. But he promised stability, so he gently transfers Yahaba’s weight onto the ground next to him.

“Thank you,” Yahaba whispers. It sounds like a prayer.

Somewhere far in the back of his mind, Kyoutani answers.

______

Kyoutani isn’t good with words, and Yahaba knows that.

That’s why Kyoutani doesn’t feel as bad when he takes his time, spitting out a painstaking confession one word at a time. Yahaba’s gaze feels like honey, pausing the world around them. They have plenty of time.

Still, a little help never hurt.

“You,” Kyoutani tries again, dropping the subsequent words immediately. “You…aren’t bad.”

Yahaba chuckles leans back on the roof tiles below them. They feel like theirs, now. “Is that all?”

“It will be if you keep interrupting,” Kyoutani groans. Yahaba’s laugh is light in the summer sun, warmer than the rays that threaten to scorch them.

Yahaba waves a hand, signalling for him to go on.

Kyoutani doesn’t try to fight down the red in his cheeks. It would only divide his attention further, and it’s already occupied by the curl of caramel over Yahaba’s ear. “You’re not bad. You’re…good. You’re good for me, I think.”

Yahaba tucks his legs underneath himself and tilts his head. “Okay.”

“Why are you making this so _difficult_.”

He isn’t.

Kyoutani takes a deep breath and tries one more time, “I think you’re good, and maybe we should do something about that, because…I don’t—“

Yahaba is so patient, but Kyoutani doesn’t want patience. He wants a lifeline. He wants someone to pull him out of the waters he never learned how to swim in.

A slender hand slides careful fingers over Kyoutani’s sweating palm.

“It’s okay,” Yahaba tugs Kyoutani’s hand over. “I’ve got you.”

He’d better, because Kyoutani is about to melt off the roof. 

______

Moving in with your partner is supposed to be a challenge. It’s a test, the true gauntlet of tolerance for your partners little intricacies. Kyoutani wears his flaws on his sleeve, and Yahaba traces each one with care. He sees them as opportunities for growth. Kyoutani thinks that he, too, can learn this skill.

Yahaba failed to mention he’s a sleepwalker.

On stressful nights, where Yahaba is swamped with his classwork and he’s pushed to his mental limits, Kyoutani will wake to a half empty bed and cold sheets. He doesn’t like it. He can’t sleep without Yahaba’s squirming limbs tucked against his side anymore. So, he drags his sleep-heavy body out of bed, and searches.

Yahaba has a few places he usually ends up. The kitchen is the most common, then the bathroom, and on one terrifying occasion, the front porch. Luckily, today’s location of choice is the kitchen.

Sometimes Yahaba will be standing at the counter, other times sitting at the dining table. Today he sits on the floor, back against the cabinets, half-dozing with his arms on his knees.

“Hey,” Kyoutani kneels on the floor in front of him. “You with me?”

Yahaba mutters something unintelligible into his forearms. Kyoutani hums and sits back on his heels.

“What was that?”

“Hm…did you know I’ve never mowed a lawn?”

Kyoutani fights back a snort. “We don’t have a lawn, moron.”

“What will happen to the dog, then?” Yahaba slurs. He’s getting sleepier, slipping back down into exhaustion. 

“We don’t have a dog, either.”

Yahaba sputters into his sleeves. “That’s criminal talk. Don’t ever say that again.”

“We can get a dog, if you want,” Kyoutani slips an arm under Yahaba’s shoulders and pulls him up further. This proves to be a bad move when Yahaba pitches forward, mere inches away from slamming his nose on the floor.

“Idiot,” Kyoutani grunts. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Yahaba doesn’t answer this time. He’s out like a light.

“You’re a menace,” Kyoutani mumbles, hooking his arms under Yahaba’s knees and back, hoisting him up. He’s heavy when he’s sleeping, but Kyoutani doesn’t mind. He’ll give him hell for it in the morning.

Kyoutani drops Yahaba into bed a little harder than he should. He hits the mattress with a wheeze. The little shit deserves it for leaving Kyoutani to freeze. 

He flops into the sheets behind him, immediately tangling their limbs and sighing at the warmth.

“Kentarou,” Yahaba croaks, voice thick with sleep and confusion. 

“Shut up,” Kyoutani pushes his face into the back of Yahaba’s neck. “Go to sleep.”

“No,” Yahaba turns and faces him, eyes closed and face scrunched. He’s never happy after he’s been sleepwalking. 

Kyoutani presses their foreheads together, hoping to smooth out the lines between Yahaba’s brows. “Shh. Sleep. I’ve got you.”

Yahaba grumbles, but settles down into Kyoutani’s arms. They melt into slumber and soft, warm sheets. Kyoutani sleeps so well he almost forgets to make fun of Yahaba for interrupting his rest.

Almost.

______

Bad days are inevitable. Neither of them are dense enough to believe that everything will be sunshine and rainbows. But they’ve been together for years. They have routines, procedures, methods to bring the other back up again.

No amount of planning could prepare them for today.

Kyoutani knew it would be a bad day when he woke up to the sheets tangled around his feet in the wrong way. They brushed against his nerves, lighting the ends of his last bits of patience. Yahaba knows how to navigate these days. 

But Yahaba is crashing, too.

Kyoutani knows it. He watches Yahaba cut up vegetables with an irritated sort of finality. The knife slams against the cutting board, grating on what’s left of Kyoutani’s resolve. He knows Yahaba needs this, to release the energy in some way. To focus. But it’s too much, too loud, too present.

Days like this, where both of them are floating in their own heads, are rare. They’re frustrating and horrifically sobering. They rely on someone, and they’re reaching for ropes that keep swaying out of their grasp. It’s so very clear when their lifelines aren’t tethered to the ground.

They don’t talk, on these days. It would only end in snapping teeth and slashing tongues. So they simmer. Silently. Alone.

Kyoutani knows Yahaba doesn’t want to be alone on these days. Normally, that isn’t a problem. Kyoutani will let Yahaba rest a cheek on his thighs or on his shoulder. Today, the touch would feel like fire.

Yahaba is hurting, Kyoutani can tell. The pressure and expectations tend to bubble just underneath Yahaba’s skin and behind his teeth, spearing insecurity into his head. But Kyoutani is stuck behind soundproof glass that he doesn’t know how to break.

Time passes slowly on these days. It does nothing to help the numb exhaustion that settles over them both. 

Kyoutani sits on the couch, hands resting on his knees. He watches the late afternoon sunlight move in slow patterns over his skin. It’s meditative, centering. He’s barely aware of the second figure entering their living room until he hears Yahaba speak.

“Hey.”

Kyoutani takes his eyes off the sun to look at his own, arms crossed and shoulders hunched. That’s not right. Kyoutani doesn’t like the way Yahaba’s hair falls over his eyes. But what can he do, from behind the glass?

“Hey.”

Yahaba shuffles over to the couch and sits, too far away to touch. A promising part of Kyoutani’s mind doesn’t like that thought.

Yahaba nods at Kyoutani’s lap, still not releasing his hands. Distantly, Kyoutani recognizes it as a peace offering. “Can I?”

With a little too much effort, Kyoutani lifts an arm, opening up his lap. Yahaba scoots closer and leans down, resting his forehead on the top of Kyoutani’s thigh. His arms tuck underneath him and support most of his weight. 

Kyoutani’s nerves bristle, just a little, before settling back down. His hand, still suspended in the air, comes down into Yahaba’s hair. It’s soft, grounding.

“Hey, Kentarou?”

“Hm?”

“I’ve got you,” Yahaba shifts to plant a tiny kiss on Kyoutani’s leg.

The smallest crack, the most beautiful fault, arcs across the glass. 

______

“I don’t know how to dance.”

“You don’t have to know,” Yahaba smiles. “It doesn’t matter. Just dance with me.”

The flower that was pinned in Yahaba’s suit jacket is long crumped by heat and crushing hugs from relatives. Celebration truly is suffocating.

“Why did I marry you again?”

“For my charming personality and fantastic body,” Yahaba laughs and grabs Kyoutani’s hand. “Now come on. I want a dance with my husband.”

Kyoutani learned the notes to Yahaba’s songs long ago. Maybe he knew them before that day on the roof, before the first harmonies echoed through his head. 

Maybe the first melodies were those cheeks, once pink from cold, now from champagne and promises. Familiar and new all at once.

Kyoutani lets Yahaba drag him to the dance floor. He watches years of songs weave into a piece of their own, separate from the one in the speakers. Yahaba was right. Almost no skill is required to pull him close by the waist, to sway to their little beat. 

Their lips meet in a flurry of hope, barely-contained smiles and laughter forcing them to part. Someone whoops from the tables nearby. Kyoutani doesn’t care. It’s worth it. 

When he pulls back far enough to look into Yahaba’s eyes, he pauses. They’re glazed and crinkled around the edges. 

“Hey,” Kyoutani mumbles. He brushes a thumb over Yahaba’s waist. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Yahaba breathes. “Perfect.”

Kyoutani leans in and hooks his chin over Yahaba’s shoulder, abandoning the distance between them. “Good. I’ve got you.”

It’s more than a reassurance. It’s a blindingly bright realization, a truth that Kyoutani had yet to consider. 

“Hm,” Yahaba hums, pulling them impossibly closer. “You’ve got me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a thread oops. They deserved more ao3 fics, so I cooked my own food.
> 
> Twitter: @tumbleweedfarm_


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